Hannah Alexander (7 page)

“When did you and God suddenly start speaking again?” he asked.

“Mine is a righteous cause, so why wouldn’t the Almighty be on my side?”

“Maybe because you’re not on His?”

“But if I’m completing my husband’s plan—and Matthew did know what was right—”

“For you?” Joseph gave a soft sigh. “Victoria, you can’t know God’s will for you without being led by God, Himself, not the intentions of a man who no longer walks this earth.”

Victoria pressed her lips together. Now Joseph had taken to preaching to her.

“How long have you been this angry?” Joseph asked more gently. “This blaming God for Matthew’s death. How long?”

The presence of this man so close to her, his warm strength, his insistence on protecting her... She should have known better than to allow him so close in the first place. She turned away.

“Victoria—”

“He could have stopped it.” Long-held anger streaked through her as if lightning had flashed.

“Do you claim to know the mind of God?”

She stepped away from him, needing a chance to breathe properly. “I know that if He’s the Almighty, Matthew could still be alive.”

Joseph followed. “You’re speaking as if God turns His head from evil on a whim, but you know your Savior better than that. He doesn’t work that way.”

“I’m afraid we’re doomed to opposite sides of that argument.”

“I disagree.”

Despite her wish to remain serious, Victoria turned and looked up into Joseph’s earnest face at last. She chuckled, and then she watched his expression as he realized what he’d said. She enjoyed his sheepish grin.

“Maybe you have a point,” he said. “For now.”

When she thought of her laughter reaching the others, she was glad they’d walked so far from the burial site. Her fellow travelers were grieving. This was no time for frivolity.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Despite all, I find it charming that you’re this concerned about my welfare.”

He gazed at her for a moment and, though he didn’t take a step, it seemed as if they were nearly touching. “It’s good to hear I’m charming you,” he murmured. “I’ll continue the debate if you wish, for the sake of charming—”

“No need.” She felt her face flush. “It feels good to have a man...someone....” She sighed. “It’s good to feel less alone.”

“I’m glad. I understand loneliness.”

“Sometimes we pay dearly for our convictions. Had I known the trials I would encounter after Matthew’s murder—had we known he would be murdered for his fight to free the slaves—would we have backed away from the fight?”

Joseph touched her chin and lifted it until she had to meet his gaze. The fire of his touch trailed a path down her neck, though his fingers remained where they were. “I’ve never known you to back away from any fight.”

She could so easily lose herself in those dark eyes and the tender passion she saw in them. Everything within her faltered as she considered giving in to the temptation to cede their debate.

Even so, how could she place any more people from this wagon train at risk?

She couldn’t. Buck and Francine needed to be warned. John Brown’s adopted son, Naaman, and his wife, Josetta, had to be moved away from danger. There was no other way to do it.

“I should warn you.” Joseph released her, and once again her mind cleared. “If you take justice into your own hands against Matthew’s killer, you’ll be surprised how difficult it is.”

She met Joseph’s gaze. She’d never doubted that he knew her well, but they were venturing into new territory, and still he could read her thoughts. She had considered the prospect of dark revenge more than once. Often, when tracking Thames, she’d questioned her inner motives. But a man like that needed to be stopped from hurting others. If she had the opportunity to be the one who stopped him, she could do it.

She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling again, then paused, unable to resist riling Joseph. “I don’t believe it’s as bad as you say.”

She glanced up and winced at his glower. Despite the seriousness of this whole conversation, she felt warmth throughout her body. More was at work here than simple friendly concern for her welfare. The powerful attraction that sparked between them could become addictive.

Though she and Matthew had used whiskey as medicine over the ten years of their practice together, she had seen the power the alcohol could exert over some of their patients. For that reason, she had attempted to use alternative medicines whenever possible and avoided the brew herself, lest she turn out to be one of the unfortunate who became dependent. She grinned up at Joseph. Perhaps it would be a good idea to avoid her growing addiction to this man, as well.

But first, just a few more things to discuss. “Captain,” she said, using his title intentionally, “how much would you be willing to give up to be sure that Kansas will be a free state?”

“My life, of course.” He said it without hesitation, as if she should know that. And she did. He frowned and took a step closer. “I would risk my life to ensure Kansas becomes a free state, just as I believe you’ve decided to risk yours. Isn’t that what you’re planning to do?”

“Most definitely. I’ve learned from the best. You’re an excellent teacher. You’ve portrayed your true character in every wise move you’ve made, every person with whom you’ve spoken, every patient whose forehead you’ve cooled.” She enjoyed watching the skin flush around his beard and mustache. The ways he had impressed her were too abundant to mention, some of them even too private to mention.

She felt heat prickle her own face.

He quietly cleared his throat. “The admiration is mutual, I assure you, though I do wish you would trust me with your plans for Jolly Mill.”

Time for a bit more distraction. “Perhaps I’m simply following the example you set years ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you returned home to take your father’s place at the plantation. I thought you were gone for good, especially when you sent word to Matthew—and not to me, by the way—that your father wanted you to marry a childhood friend.”

He straightened. Obviously, the technique worked. “Tell me, was that before or after you and Matthew married?”

“Before, of course. Until then I held out hope that you might change your mind and return. I had heard you were engaged to Miss Sara Jane many months before I was willing to consider a partnership with Matthew.” She boldly held his gaze. “I was going to travel with my brother to California when I decided you weren’t returning to St. Louis. Matthew offered to make me his partner if I would stay. Of course, you hadn’t told us your plans.” She was surprised by the sudden testiness in her voice.

Joseph frowned, but he didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he gazed across the valley, his jaw muscles flexing, eyes brooding. He pulled off his hat and looked down at it as he rubbed his fingers over the brim. “I never intended to marry anyone else.”

“You didn’t see fit to tell me that and you left me behind. What was I supposed to think?”

“My letters should have told you everything.”

“And as I’ve told you, I never received a single letter from you.”

“I can’t help wondering why. Where could those letters have been stopped, and why didn’t you receive them?”

“Please don’t tell me you’re placing the blame for that on a dead man.”

“No.” He sighed. “Maybe. I have no reason to believe Matthew would hurt us this way.”

“You were the one who left, Joseph. You can’t blame Matthew for hurting us.”

“I came to my senses not long after arriving home, and I did write to you about my change of heart.” Joseph put his hat back on and caught her gently by the shoulders.

She shook her head, aware only of the warmth of his hands. “Even then, when you were barely twenty, you were a man who knew what he wanted,” she said softly. “Why would I have expected you to change your mind?”

As if just then realizing he was holding her, instead of releasing her, he drew her closer. “You know about honor, don’t you? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To honor your dead husband’s memory.”

She bit her tongue. Joseph could always bring the subject back to where he wanted it. And yet she’d never felt safer than right now, in the circle of his arms. Times like this she didn’t want to let him go. She wanted to think something could work between them, and she wanted his support in her endeavor.

“You know others have gone before us into Kansas for the same reason, not only from Missouri but from the rest of the country, migrating there with family and friends.” She hesitated. “Francine and Buck Frasier also believe in our cause.”

“I don’t expect you’d be so intent on this visit if you thought they didn’t.” Again, that see-all gaze, and then his expression changed and realization struck. “And this valuable cargo you mentioned?”

She held his gaze. “What do you think John Brown would call precious cargo?”

“His sons.”

“What could be more precious than a son, and possibly his wife?”

He hesitated, let out a heavy breath and looked away, his dark eyes intent on the horizon, his strong jaw muscles still working beneath the neat beard.

For a moment her own breath refused to come and she realized how badly she wanted this man on her side. Maybe even more than that. Maybe she simply wanted him beside her. Guilt once again prickled along her arms as she thought of Matthew. She’d never experienced this kind of powerful awareness of Matthew even after their marriage metamorphosed into something more than a business arrangement.

Overcome by a sudden wave of sadness, she turned to walk away from Joseph—the man who had once rejected her. Matthew never had. The very direction of her heart betrayed her. Was she also betraying Matthew?

Chapter Seven

J
oseph watched the woman he loved strolling slightly ahead of him, her golden-red hair glowing in the sunshine, the scent of honeysuckle scattering in her wake. “I’ve realized I can’t hog-tie you to a wagon and force you to continue with us,” he said.

She walked in silence for a moment, her shoulders drooping, her head bowed. What had he said wrong? Why was she so downcast now?

“Of course not,” she said after an uncomfortable hesitation. “Matthew learned after our first week of marriage that I don’t take kindly to commands.”

“Haven’t I respected your wishes to this point of our trip?” he asked. “Try me, Victoria. If I interfere, you can shoot me with that little pistol of yours.”

He thought he heard her sigh, but she continued walking and her speed increased as if she didn’t want him to catch up with her. So naturally, he did. She had entered the shade of a giant pine when he reached out for her hand, grasped it and held it. He heard her catch her breath, but she didn’t pull away. He thought he could sense her wavering, and then she stopped and turned to look up at him.

What was it that made her eyes shine even in the shadows? Or maybe it wasn’t her eyes but something in her expression, her thoughts, her heart, in the feel of her hand in his. He raised her hand and kissed it, never taking his gaze from hers. She held it with characteristic boldness.

As if the touch of his lips on her skin drew her, she stepped forward until he could smell the subtle fragrance of the herbs she collected and turned into healing balms. She had always been the healing balm in his life. It was why he’d wandered alone for so many years.

She reached up and pressed the back of her hand against the side of his face, sending warmth through him. “I want to tell you a story.”

“I love stories.” And he wanted this moment, this touch, to last forever. He could listen to her stories all day long.

“Our friends Francine and Buck Frasier were attacked one evening last year by a drunk outside a saloon in St. Louis. A slave came to their rescue and was shot by a black-hearted hate monger for his kindness. They came to our clinic for help. That’s how we became acquainted. We found we had similar interests.”

Joseph no longer winced at her references to Matthew and herself as “we.” She often spoke of Matthew, and Joseph no longer experienced the sharp sting of jealousy that had attacked him at first. He knew that if he loved her he was going to have to love everything about her, including her past, her memories and the fact that she was no longer the young, inexperienced woman who had wound herself around his heart.

Would that be a challenge for him? Would he be willing to wait until she was ready to love again?

“Joseph? Am I boring you?”

He glanced at her. “Of course not. You could never bore me. Please continue.”

She seemed mollified. “Among other things, Francine and I both wished for children. She taught me how to knit and crochet, and Matthew taught Buck several things medical.”

“Who was this blackheart who shot their rescuer?”

“A plantation owner by the name of Otto Duncan.”

Joseph knew that name, and it gave him a chill. “He has a lot of productive land in the Missouri River Valley.”

“He defended himself later with the excuse that no slave should ever be allowed to attack a white man, no matter the reason.” She looked up at Joseph. “What else do you know of him?”

“He has a prosperous plantation, which enables him to make the money to get by with inhumane activities.” Joseph took Victoria by the elbow, and though he wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her, he knew better than to push her too far. He guided her forward and out of the shadows into the sunlight again. “I’ve heard fellow trappers report that the man treats his captives like grasshoppers in a field, and he has enough income through extortion that he can afford to lose a slave or two every month. He does it for the sport, sets them free in a forest and chases them down with his dogs, promising freedom if they can reach the edge of the plantation before he catches them.”

Victoria gasped. Her steps slowed. “The law allows this?”

“He owns the law in that area.”

“I believe he’s connected to Thames.”

“More reason for you to avoid that silver-tailed skunk. I’m not excusing Southern plantation owners for using slaves, but he could at least have the good sense to keep his slaves cared for in order to yield good crops.”

“Spoken like the son of a plantation man.” She touched Joseph’s arm. “Before you arrived in St. Louis last month, one of Duncan’s neighbors was mysteriously killed and his crops burned.”

“You suspect Duncan?” Joseph asked.

“Everyone does.”

“Was the neighbor an abolitionist?”

“No, he had slaves of his own.” She dropped her hand to her side and gave a soft sigh. “Everyone around us seems so corrupt. Do you think we even have a chance to make a change toward integrity in this country?”

He knew what she was thinking. Had he been the one planning to break away from the wagon train and travel north to help protect the innocents, he wouldn’t allow anyone to talk him out of it, either.

Joseph caught the scent of smoke and looked up to see the camp as they drew closer to it. “Do you think the Reichs are the kind of people to make a difference?”

“With all those smart young boys? Most definitely.”

“Deacon and Mrs. Fritz?”

“Oh, yes. You made good choices, Joseph. Except maybe for that young blond-haired scoundrel who refuses to respect the wisdom of older men.”

“Buster’s father was once as wild as his son is now, wouldn’t listen to a word of advice, so he had to learn the hard way. But what he learned toughened him up for life. Buster’s already learned some awfully painful lessons. If I didn’t think he had a future I would never have taken him on.”

“I would think one troublemaker per wagon train would be enough for you.” She shrugged. “Though I realize I can also stir things up from time to time.”

He grinned and shook his head. “I’m not going to argue, but you do make up for it.” She obviously didn’t take offense. “You get enough clear-thinking folk together and you’ll have a chance for change,” he continued. “Those clear-thinking folk will have a good influence on that one wild young man.”

“How many wagon trains did you say you’d led to Kansas Territory?” she asked.

“This one makes five,” Joseph said.

“So the town is already a good size.”

“We started work on it the day my first wagon train camped on the chosen ground.” He recalled the pride and sense of excitement he’d felt then. “We settled far enough east that we have trees for wood to build, so no one is living in a sod house. Every family has a home built by the community. We have over five hundred souls living there now, and we’re growing every day with young families and wiser folk to guide the way.” How he would love to have his own family someday with this beautiful, determined, compassionate woman by his side.

“Are you far enough away from the border to avoid ruffians?”

“I hope so. When we settled that land, the political climate wasn’t as hostile as it is now. We can pray we’ll be overlooked by troublemakers, but the people are building a border of our own around the town property, as well as a protected tower should we need to keep watch.”

“Like a fort?”

“Exactly. A fort in a protected valley.” He thought about Otto Duncan’s murdered neighbor. “What happened to the slaves of the murdered plantation owner?”

“They were hidden away.”

“By whom?”

“Francine and Buck Frasier may have had something to do with leading them away from harm,” she said. “They have a lot of friends in Missouri. If I know them, they did all they could to help the homeless find shelter.”

“No wonder you became friends with them. You’re an amazing woman, Victoria Fenway.”

She stopped walking and looked up at him. Moisture filmed those priceless blue eyes. “You approve?”

“How could I not approve of what’s in your heart? It’s pure and good. If you were to manage to help John’s son and daughter-in-law escape, what if the free-soil vote doesn’t go our way in Kansas?”

“Then we’ll continue west until we find a place of safety. When this is over they will have their freedom.”

Joseph removed his hat and brushed at his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt. He sighed and replaced the hat as he gazed around at the people tending the wagons and livestock, the men placing more large chunks of freshly dressed venison over the bonfire. It would be hours before dinner, but the scent of roasting meat made him hungry now.

He glanced down at Victoria and could guess her thoughts by the direction of her gaze and the way she nibbled at her lower lips. What would happen to all these good folk if someone like Duncan or the border ruffians got hold of them, especially if they found out she was working against the ruffians?

“Victoria, do you have any way to fake slave ownership should you be stopped with John’s family in your company?”

“I’ll have what I need. Buck and Francine don’t have papers, which is why they’re in a dangerous situation. I brought a stack of blank sale bills for livestock and slaves that Matthew had printed by a friend of his in the newspaper office. Until I can provide those, however, Jolly Mill, with those roving ruffians, is a bad place for all.”

The thought gave him a chill.

* * *

Victoria looked up at Joseph in time to see him grimace. She loved the fact that he was too much of a gentleman to remark often on her bullheadedness.

“We could send scouts with you to check out the town,” Joseph said. “See what kind of activity is taking place there now. It is, after all, a good place to stop and resupply. It’s our usual passage, with a good route straight into the Kansas Territory.”

She gave a soft sigh. Why had she allowed herself to be convinced he would let her follow through on her plans? “Joseph, no. You can’t get our people involved in a border skirmish.”

He nodded as if in agreement, and she relaxed. For a moment she’d thought he was serious. Taking everyone that direction would add days to her travel—and she could not afford the time. After spotting Thames’s track, she’d grown more restless as time went on. Though she’d feel ever so much safer riding into town with the knowledge that backup was on the way, that would be selfish.

Joseph gave her a sidewise grin. “I could send McDonald down around Elk River to meet with the other wagons due to join up with us there. They can meet the rest of us in Neosho.”

“Isn’t it just as dangerous there?”

“We have a field above town where we meet. It’s surrounded by thick forests and the land that’s there is farmed by other abolitionists.”

She bit the tip of her tongue. He’d been thinking things through for a while, apparently. “When you and McDonald were redoing our route, you decided not to go as far north as Neosho.”

“That was days ago. We’re staying off the busiest trails, but see that creek over there? Shoal Creek goes all the way to Neosho.”

“How do you know? Have you followed it?”

“My scout has. That’s where a good scout earns his keep. So don’t go telling me how to captain my wagon train.” He said the words lightly, as if teasing.

“I won’t, if you won’t try telling me which way to guide my horse.” Her tone matched his.

He paused, his steps slowing. “But that’s my job.”

She looked away. Better to back down than to dare him to get drastic.

Though she prided herself in her ability to keep a professional facade with her patients, she’d been unable to maintain that same countenance with Joseph these past few days. Could he feel her fear? These insights of his must change, and quickly. So must her weakness when it came to men with equal measures of strength and kindness in their hearts.

She had a task to perform that trumped any other, and as an overwhelming desire grew in her to accept his aid, she rejected it. Joseph was the last person she would ever wish to endanger. “Excuse me, Joseph, but I have packing to do. I’d best get to it.”

* * *

Joseph watched and appreciated the beautiful Dr. Victoria Fenway as she marched away, head high, hair the color of a golden sunrise that continued to escape her chignon. It drifted across the black material that covered her shoulders, and he noted that those shoulders had begun to slump once more. Her head slowly bowed and the starch left her almost as quickly as it had stiffened her spine not a moment ago.

Dr. Matthew Fenway had been a blessed man to have a woman like her who was faithful to his memory long after his body had been planted in the earth. She remained the picture of despondency as she walked to the wagon she shared with the Ladues—now with only Heidi.

Her determination to save her patients this past week would have earned Joseph’s unceasing respect if she hadn’t already done so. He knew it took a stubborn spirit to fight death and win, and she needed that strong spirit to keep her going, particularly since she had some obvious qualms with the Almighty.

What concerned him was where her strong spirit might take her and how much danger she might find there.

He watched as she climbed into the back of the wagon, her hair finally falling completely from its twist and waving in the brilliant afternoon sunlight—a lovely vision of the sunrise encircling her shoulders right here in the middle of the afternoon. She disappeared beneath the oiled canvas of the wagon cover.

“We could make a few miles this afternoon,” Zeke McDonald’s voice rattled from behind.

Joseph turned and raised his eyebrows at his redheaded, scruffy-faced scout.

“There’s an easy crossing in the shallows only about fifteen feet up from the old trail,” the tall man continued. “We can be on our way, collect our other wagons down along the Arkansas border, and be riding across the wild prairie in a couple of weeks. Kansas is gettin’ closer all the time.”

“Any word of the ruffians in these parts?” Joseph asked.

“Not so much through Indian Territory right now. That’s our plan.” McDonald squinted at Joseph. “Isn’t it?”

Joseph kicked at a rock. “What’s along the trail from Springfield these days?”